Where is this coming from?
This trust.
This—trust.
Distrust.
No, trust.

The familiarity in this smile of a face.
This glow in your voice and the air in your eyes.

Greatest tenderness felt for’a friend.
It is not physical.
Until it expresses itself.
The form of a word.

Sometimes I want to spray all ya names onto the street.
Not to walk on them, but to jump up high and feel you all there, with me.

The form of a hug.
Sent out.
Received.

Rest.